


What You've Been Missing

by Name1



Series: Moving Forward [8]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Cara's Gorgeous Breasts- TM, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, I'm Sorry, Like really slow, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Slow Burn, Sparring, Unresolved Sexual Tension, angst on angst, green bean, he finally stays asleep, idiots to lovers, snail's pace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:07:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23062225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Name1/pseuds/Name1
Summary: She turned her head toward the table. Din’s helmet followed her trajectory and they both confirmed Bean had fallen asleep where he had been sitting, apparently finding their sparring not very interesting. He had even wrapped the blanket around himself, the edge pressed up his face. Din could see the beads of sweat along her brow and the sweat gathered on her white shirt, turning it transparent in places.“Is he actually asleep?” he asked in disbelief. “You look pretty sweaty too.”“Yeah, he ran around all day. He’s out, I think” she states optimistically. “So, who won this round?” Cara inquired as an afterthought“That remains to be seen.” Din says cryptically.
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: Moving Forward [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648918
Comments: 24
Kudos: 70





	What You've Been Missing

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading as always! This is still in the same timeline. Hope the flashbacks make sense.  
> Forgive the many typos, I will go back tomorrow and the next day and fix them. I wanted to get this out in a hurry so here we are, mistakes and all !

Cara and Din are sitting at the main table putting away the set of playing cards. It’s been a quiet afternoon, but the kid has been extra energetic today for some reason. Did he get into some sort of sweets? She didn’t see any chocolate on his face or any wrappers littering the floor. The tension was getting palpable in the air as the afternoon progressed. Cara and Din were getting ready to spar, part of their daily workout routine. Unlike the first time they came at each other in friendly play on the Crest after the little guy had gone to sleep, they now knew it was ok to allow Bean to be present. By now he knew they were never really going to hurt each other, and he even seemed like he enjoyed watching from the sidelines now. She briefly wondered who he would have cheered for if he understood how this worked.

“Armor on or off?” asked Din. He was rolling his sore shoulder and he heard his neck pop beneath his helmet. It was still quite sensitive.

“Off, it’s good to be able to take body hits, you never know when you could lose your armor,” Cara answered in return.

“If I lose my armor, things are looking pretty fucking bad for us.”

“Still, good to train our core muscles to tense up to take a hit. It doesn’t help us to get soft,” Cara reasoned.

“Ok, fair enough. Armor next time then.”

“Deal.”

They’re both in their soft regular clothes they lounge about the ship in. Din is wearing a dark olive shirt with his sleeves rolled up and brown pants, his feet bare. Cara is wearing black shorts and a white t-shirt, her black sports bra visible underneath the thin light-colored fabric. Din had already taped up his hands, meaning he now got to sit back and watch as it was Cara’s turn. She was skilled at this, more so than him. After tearing the extra tape off the roll with her teeth, she tucked the end into her wrist and flexed her fingers and palms to loosen everything up. She stood up from her chair, pushing it back under the table. They both took this activity seriously and used every inch of space to gain the upper hand. Din rose as well, and they met in the middle of the room. There was no need to touch hands or bow or any of that fair-fight shit associated with more formal settings. They always fight dirty, but never seriously injure the other person. _Except that one time she dislocated his arm on accident, that didn’t count. He should have tapped out._

Bean is watching them with sleepy but interested eyes as they begin to circle each other. Their posturing was real though, as if a stranger was standing opposite them, but the familiarity of it was almost comforting by this point. The changes in their dynamic and their relationship only heightened the experience of squaring off against one another.

Their feet match each other’s without ever needing to look down. _Right over left. A feint step back only to quickly change direction_ …. Their chests were turned toward each other, their hips as well. Cara loved to draw in her opponent, to make them irritated and capitalize off their impatience, their cockiness. Din was neither impatient nor cocky. This was what made it so much fun.

_Fine,_ _so much for patience,_ she would get this show on the road. Her skin was itching for a fight, the frustration at their constant interruptions from the kid fueling most of her nervous energy.

She came at him hard and fast, the only way she knew how. Her blows to his head and neck were thunderous and he only managed to block about half of them. He managed to hook his fist right into her ribcage, under her armpit, with enough force behind it to push her off and regain his footing.

He came at her next. He managed to get a hit to her jaw, but he couldn’t help but feel she gave him that one. She loved getting her blood hot to increase the intensity of the fight. His hit to her stomach came next, her abdominal muscles clenching to absorb most of the force and protect the soft organs underneath. He knew better than to pull his punches. Nothing would make her come for him harder than that…..he knew from experience.

Her knee collided with his diaphragm and momentarily knocked the breath from his lungs. When he lowered his arm to push her knee away, he left his opposing flank open and she lunged for it instantly. He blocked her with his other arm, and she managed to use it against him, twisting it painfully as she got behind him, and before he knew it, he was slammed on the ground, lying on his back. Cara was still holding onto his arm, beside him on the ground. She had used her weight and the right angle to drop him like he weighed nothing. He both felt and heard her scramble to gain the upper ground atop him, but he rolled toward her instead and ended up on top of her. She went to flip him, but realized he was holding her leg down, the perfect way to prevent and counter what she had planned.

“You asshole,” she ground out, hating to lose in any capacity, “I knew I shouldn’t have showed you that trick.” She started wriggling under him, apparently looking for an out, _all part of her plan_. He shifted against her to hold her down, oblivious to what she was doing. _His mind might have been oblivious, but his body certainly wasn’t._

“I told you I’d use it against you, didn’t I?” He was distracted for a moment as he spoke, the fondness in his voice clear.

“You also said I didn’t play fair, remember that?” In the time it took her to utter those words, she had gotten a hand free and reached down in between them to grip him through his loose pants.

His immediate grunt of pleasure was enough of a tap out, not that she was keeping score or anything.

“Cara….” He sighed, pinning her hand between them to encourage her to continue.

“You sweaty, Din?”

“What?” _Maybe he heard her incorrectly. What did that have to do with anything?_

“If you’re sweaty, we should take a shower, don’t you think? I could do with a nice warm relaxing shower, what about you?”

“I am feeling pretty sweaty, now that you mention it,” he said in the most convincing tone he could manage at her suggestion.

She turned her head toward the table. Din’s helmet followed her trajectory and they both confirmed Bean had fallen asleep where he had been sitting, apparently finding their sparring not very interesting. He had even wrapped the blanket around himself, the edge pressed up his face. Din could see the beads of sweat along her brow and the sweat gathered on her white shirt, turning it transparent in places.

“Is he actually asleep?” he asked in disbelief. “You look pretty sweaty too.”

  
“Yeah, he ran around all day. He’s out, I think” she states optimistically. “So, who won this round?” Cara inquired as an afterthought

“That remains to be seen.” Din says cryptically.

They turn out the lights of the main living area to help encourage the kid to stay asleep.

They walk to the shower hand in hand. The space was small, too small for two people to shower at the same time, but they were more than happy to huddle close together in the confined quarters.

“If we turn the lights out, we won’t be able to see anything. Slippery tiles and darkness are a bad combination. I don’t think this can work,” Din says forlornly.

“Then keep the helmet on dummy. Beskar doesn’t rust, _your own words_. That way you can watch me all you want, and I can see you at the same time. Sounds good?”

She reached for the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head in one sweeping motion, taking care not to displace his helmet as always.

It’s Din’s turn next. He pulls her white damp shirt over her head as she helps get her arms loose. He’s standing there bare-chested, and Cara’s black athletic bra is the only thing that stands between him and what he wants to touch more than he wants air right now.

“Go on,” she encourages him, glancing down to the hook and eye clasps that are straining in the center of her view, her chest heaving with her breathing that’s speeding up by the second.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. His hands are only moderately shaking as he feels the metal hooks slide free under his hands. There are five in total and by the time he gets to the third one, his hands are shaking more than before. She places her hands over his in what he assumes will be a sign of impatience at his fumbling hands, but she only holds his hands briefly and leans up to whisper, “I want you to undress me, your hands feel so good.” Her words both assure him and embolden him to release the remaining hooks before the fabric parts under his hands. He reaches up to her shoulders to push the thick straps off her shoulders before pausing and confirming, “is this ok?” before she nods, and his hands encourage the black material to fall to the floor. The scar on her shoulder draws his attention and he wished he wasn’t wearing the helmet so he could place his lips against her scar, the mark he permanently left on her that has healed remarkably well.

He changes his mind about the helmet however, when he looks down. She’s as beautiful as he remembered from their game the other day, perfect skin and pale, soft breasts that fill and spill over his hands. His thoughts are cut short as she presses her chest to his and the heat of her skin and the layer of cooling sweat is all he can feel. She leans up, her mouth against his chin to whisper alluringly, “I love the way you smell after a fight. I almost don’t want to get in the shower and wash it away.” She nuzzles him affectionately and pauses for a long moment.

“Almost……….but I _really_ want this shower” she says as she slips her hands into the waistband of his pants. “Tell me if you want me to stop okay,” she says as she starts to slide them down over his hips, then his thighs, then his knees. When they get low enough, he uses his own feet to kick them away.

His hands linger at her waistband.

“Please,” she says in that damn breathless voice that he can never deny. He pushes her shorts down her round hips, her strong thighs, down to her knees, and she too kicks them away like they’re offending her just existing.

She looks right into his visor before proceeding. “Yeah?” she asks as she has only her fingertips in the edge of his shorts. They’ve never seen each other completely bare in the light. All teasing aside, she could wait forever if this wasn’t something he was comfortable with. She presses the button on the wall to activate the shower, the water temperature already preset to be on the comfortable side of hot.

“Whatever you want, how much or how little, is fine--you know that right?”

“Yes, I know,” he answers seriously before placing his hands over hers to pull the elastic band down of his shorts.

“Don’t you dare even ask,” she says playfully as she guides his hands to peel her panties (the tight boyshort-cut she loves) down her legs.

“Well?” she asks with a hint of amusement in her voice, but also a hint of hesitancy. She knows she’s littered with scars. His mouth has traveled most of them in the dark, but seeing them in the light was another matter altogether. She was glad he could see her now with his helmet on, _he seemed to love watching her after something shifted and made him more daring_ , but she was also glad she wouldn’t be able to see his disappointment if he didn’t like what he saw. _If what he thought was beautiful in the dark, was ugly in the light…_

He let his gaze wander just once, before stating as seriously as she had ever heard him, “you’re perfect”.

“Gorgeous.”

“Thank you for letting me see you,” he says in the most worshipful voice. He didn’t mean her nakedness and she knew it. She had let him in; let him truly know her, and he still found her beautiful; not lacking, as she was certain he would.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she quips back at him as she lets her eyes give him a playful once over, before wrapping her arms around his waist and placing her head on his chest. She was facing away from him as she said, “thank you for seeing me”.

“Always.” He said, like it was the easiest thing he’d ever spoken out loud.

He could feel her smile against his skin.

He put her out of her misery, and she could laugh at her own relief as he said, “soooo, you want to keep talking romantic shit or you want to get in the shower?” He nudged her in the ribs as he spoke to make her laugh.

She laughed and it was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds on a dreary day “It’s like you can read my mind Djarin”. _How does he always know what she needs?_

She took the lead, reaching down to entangle her fingers with his as they walked into the warm spray.

She dipped her head under the water and slicked her wet hair back as he stood close behind her. She turned to him and said “I changed my mind, why don’t you take it off so I can kiss you? I’ll keep my eyes closed. You won’t let me fall, will you?”

He was so distracted by the water sluicing off her curves and hard planes of her body, he almost forgot he was supposed to respond.

“Yeah, okay. Take it off”

She closed her eyes and reached up to pull the armor that covered his face straight up, cautious not to catch his nose on the front display. She handed it to him reverently, eyes still closed, and she felt him take its weight out of her hands.

What happened next made her yelp as she heard the metal hit the ground sharply, like he just carelessly tossed it aside.

“Din!”, she exclaimed, “what happened, did you drop i—” her question was cut off instantly when he pushed his mouth against hers, turning his head at the angle they had perfected over months to allow them to slant together even closer. His hands were grasping her hips so firmly, she worried she might have delicate bruises in the shape of his fingertips tomorrow.

He broke the kiss only long enough to say roughly “that is not my priority right now, you are” before his mouth was back on her hers, even more passionate and insistent than before. He surprised even himself with how he tossed his helmet to the ground with none of the usual reverence he had displayed for the last 20 years. The electronics might be totally fucked, but he couldn’t care less. _Wiring can be replaced._ He was hard as he pressed her up against the tile wall, making her gasp at the cold against her hot skin and the feeling of his arousal. He used her gasp to slip his tongue into her mouth and pull a moan from her that reached all the way down to his toes.

“I need you.” Din gasps against her lips. She’s never heard him this desperate for her before. _For her. This was for her._ The thought went straight to her belly, making her hot all over. She could feel the heat spreading over her, thick and heavy as it consumed her. All their mornings, making out like teenagers discovering pleasure for the first time; their hands, mouths, bodies arching and touching one another could never compare to this. _His voice right now……_ _What had happened to make his voice do that?_

“Yes, I need you too. Din, don’t stop.”

He breaks the kiss to moan into her neck, “I need my mouth on you.”

Her hands are on either side of his face when she shoves their mouths back together before pulling away to moan, “your mouth is already on me, you must not be paying attention.”

He kisses down her chest before muttering between her breasts, mesmerized by the rivulets of water running down her slopes and valleys, “I don’t just mean your mouth. You’re so closed-minded sometimes Dune, expand your horizons.”

She can feel him grinning against her skin. “Oh yeah? Then show me what I’m missing Din.”

That’s all it takes for him to forget everything but Cara standing before him.

His name? Gone

His helmet? Gone

His uncertainty about their future and what he can give her? Gone

All that exists is her body as his hands leave her hips to reach for her breasts to palm them roughly, the way she loves. Her head thunking back against the wall is all he hears as his mouth maps every inch of her flesh, following his greedy hands. His eyes are taking it all in, memorizing this view of her coming apart underneath him, for him. His blazing hot mouth on her nipple makes her knees buckle momentarily and she throws one arm over her eyes, using the soft skin at the inside crook of her elbow to keep them covered.

He wants her hands _on him_ as he makes her squirm, wants to feel every tensing of her muscles and arch of her body.

“Touch me please, I’ll keep my face cast downwards just in case. If you slip up, all you’ll see is the top of my hair.”

“O-Okay,” she manages to get out, breathless already. She lets her arm fall down and runs her hands over his hair and his mouth works over her chest. Her fingers tangle roughly in his wet hair, desperate to find something to anchor her. She feels like she might float away if she doesn’t hold on to him right now.

He’ll never have his fill of her breasts as long as he lives, but after one more languid pass over her nipple that has her gasping again, he moves lower as he follows the lines of the muscles in her abdomen. He drops to his knees, falling before her without any form of delicate landing. He hits the ground and she moans, as soon as the movement makes its way to her brain. The water is freely flowing down her taunt stomach and as he mouths at her perfect belly, his mouth is filled with water over and over again. He doesn’t let it deter him. _Nothing could deter him right now._

He dips his tongue into the perfect notch of her navel, and he regains his senses enough to say, “if you want me stop or slow down, you tell me okay?”

“If you stop or slow down, I will _kill_ you and hide your body; but yes, okay-message received”

Her hands are gripping his hair in a death grip as he swirls his tongue around the circle of her belly button and starts to inch lower at a snail’s pace, making sure he is clearly projecting his path, indicating his goal, so as not to startle her or take her by surprise.

“Din, Din, please…I …just—if--” She’s mumbling nonsense words at this point and she’s no longer just holding onto his hair, but actively pushing at the top of his head.

“Hold on to me,” he manages to grunt out as it physically causes him pain to remove his mouth from her wet skin just to say those 4 four words.

The next thing she knows, he’s pulled her wet thigh to rest over his shoulder and the whole world has ended.

His mouth on her is everything she dreamed it would be if she was still alive to form thoughts: soft and hard, delicate and demanding, tentative and insistent. She can’t stay still, she’s writhing shamelessly against his face, her knees can’t hold her up and she knows she’s about to fall; but his hands are suddenly holding her up, pushing her hips against the wall to keep her mostly standing. She lets out the most guttural moan she has ever heard in her life and is rewarded by a moan tearing from his throat in response. _She feels it reverberating everywhere._ She can’t be sure how long he pleasures her, worshipping her on his knees, it could be 5 minutes or an hour. All sense of time is gone, all she can feel is pleasure crashing over her in waves, relentless and rhythmic. The eagerness of his mouth feels endless, like he can’t get enough of her. As soon as she thinks the wave has passed and she can take a breath, another one crashes over her head, taking her breath away again and again. The wet slide of his tongue and the roughness of his beard would feature in every dream she ever has from here on out.

Her hands are gripping his hair so hard she worries she might pull it out in handfuls, but he’s already getting clumsier now, his strokes less regular, but so fucking enthusiastic and hungry for her pleasure that she feels herself crashing violently over a peak she didn’t even see coming. _How did he sneak that up on her?_ She cries out, her voice breaking with its intensity and volume. Her violent shudder rakes through her whole body and she holds his head like it’s the only thing keeping her alive; his ministrations don’t cease, just let up slightly as he guides her through to the other side of it. It feels like every muscle in her body contracted and let go at the same time. She can’t see, she can’t hear; the only sound that registers is her blood rushing in her ears and the sound of his shuddering breaths against her. He manages to get one of his hands on himself and his own shaky broken movements paired with his open mouth gasping against her only prolong her over-sensitized torture until he lowers her leg back to the ground, his hands still shaking just as strongly as her legs.

She’s not sure what the appropriate response was supposed to be, but she can’t feel her legs to stand a second longer, so she slides to the ground clumsily in front of him and starts laughing.

“Well, did I show you what you’re missing?” he asks challengingly. Her laughter is contagious, and he finds himself joining in. Her eyes are still tightly shut, and he only wished for an instant that she would forget; that she would open them to look right into his eyes, so she can see his total devotion, worship, and _yes_ love, as he gazes at her flushed face. The pink smattering reaches down her chest and he has the urge to reach out to kiss her flushed skin once again.

She beats him to it, reaching out blindly to grab his face and kiss him. He expected a rough mashing together of mouths, but she kisses his mouth softly. His hands cradle her face as he kisses her in return. This was the unhurried kiss of lovers, the kiss of two people who knew there would be a tomorrow, and a day after that, and another after that. Their kiss on the cold floor of the tiled shower with the water still spraying over their heads was a kiss of promise, not just desire. How could they be so lucky to have both? It almost seemed ridiculous after the outpouring of passion, desire, and months of built up tension they just released, but it was the sweetest kiss they had ever shared, their mouths content to just press against one another, to share this moment of pleasure and togetherness. To breathe together, to _be_ together. _How did kissing her become like this? How did the feel of her breath on his face become the feeling of home? How did the sound of her contented sigh become his favorite sound? How did the feel of her laughter reverberating in his own chest make him feel so alive?_

He wasn’t sure how this all happened. He couldn’t fathom how his life had changed so much in the past year, but he knew it started with his decision to change Fate and return for her after leaving her behind on that backwater planet.

………………………………..

In the past

Din had spent most of his life following The Way. As a little boy his whole life changed in the flash of an eye, the flash of a blast exploding outside of his hiding place that took away everything he knew. He remembered his ears ringing and reaching out to the gloved hand that reached out compassionately for him. That hand had been something solid he could cling to. It promised comfort and security, and he couldn’t have turned it away, no matter what.

His parents were gone. He had no way of _knowing_ that, but he felt it somehow deep inside of him. He knew it was true. He was so small, but he still remembers the feeling of what would be his Buir’s arms wrapped around him, shielding him from the violent scene unfolding all around them. He could still smell the chemicals of spent cartridges and smoke in the air. He could still hear the loud percussive blasts of heavy gun fire and exploding shells. But mostly, he could still smell the exact scent of the cloth material of the cape he buried his face into. It was coarse, and woolen against his cheek as he rested against the larger man’s shoulder. It felt scratchy against his face but so comforting, a texture that kept him grounded. The fact that he had survived, that he had been not only saved but adopted into a family was nothing more than chance, the hand of Fate acting on his behalf for the first time he could remember.

He had been raised as one of their own and the pride on his Buir’s face when he chose to swear the Creed and don the helmet had been real; the best moment of his life. His face, the face that Din had been allowed to see only in the privacy of their home, still showed up in his dreams. Sometimes he said he was proud of him, other times the messages were more nebulous. Often, they were mere impressions and feelings; blurry images and sounds, and he would awaken with a ghost lingering at the periphery of his senses.

What would he think if he could see him with Bean, fumbling his way through fatherhood through trial and error? Would he be proud or disappointed in his paternal instincts? He wondered if his own father struggled as much as he did.

He remembers the day he turned 14 vividly. He was ritually asked if he chose to walk the way of the Mandalore and he said yes. It wasn’t just for his Buir, though the pride in his voice had filled his chest for days afterwards. These people saved him, took him in. They gave him a home and a new name and food in his belly. They spent their time and resources training him and teaching him to fight; not just in combat, but in life; how to survive in a cruel galaxy that had no tolerance for weakness. Not only did he owe them his life, but his gratitude and his loyalty. He would not turn his back on the way of life he was raised into. Fate had chosen him to live where so many others had not.

It was his Fate to live by The Way and not question its tenants. Strength, honor, family, combat, these were the principles that he lived by, the only way to live an honorable life and achieve a warrior’s death. Fate had a plan for him, and this was what it had chosen. He had never questioned it, just counted the many ways fate had provided for him. His loneliness was part of Fate’s plan. His isolation when he was chosen to go out on his own was part of Fate’s plan. The distance that grew between him and the members of his clan was Fate’s plan.

He threw himself headfirst into proving himself. He would produce more Beskar for his Clan than they had ever seen. He would show them they didn’t make a mistake saving him, raising him. This was his Fate and he was ready to face it.

Then what the hell did he call it when he made the split-second decision to rescue the kid he had traded for this precious Beskar? Was that Fate too? It felt like free choice, but he couldn’t be sure.

Was it Fate when he saw a woman with dark hair sitting in the corner of a canteen only days later? The woman he met on that backwater nothing planet that made his skin feel warm and his heart beat faster. Was that Fate as well? The Way rewarding him for his selfless act?

He thought of her often, mostly at night when he was alone with his thoughts, but his mind drifted to her during the waking hours too. He would be embarrassed if someone could see inside his mind and view his thoughts. His affection for her was clear, but he wondered if it could have ever been more than that if Fate had allowed him to linger longer?

When he thought of her now, his thoughts were not lascivious. She was a beautiful woman, no doubt about that but it wasn’t what punched him straight in the gut every time he pictured her. He thought about sitting on the porch, their sparring sessions, the laughter that he didn’t think he was capable of.

More than anything, he hoped she was okay. That she had found some peace. That she was safe, happy. _She was his friend, that’s what you’re supposed to wish for your friends right?_ Were you also supposed to think about your friends and what they looked like in the morning, their hair a mess? The shape of their mouth, the sleepy tone in her voice when they watched the sun come up? The look of the setting sun reflected in her eyes, how it faded at dusk and they both kept finding reasons to stay up later to avoid separating for bed? The feel of her gloved hand when she helped him off the ground after sweeping his legs? The feel of her bare hand when they grew too sweaty for gloves? The feel of her legs wrapped around his as she pinned him to the ground? Her wit and her sense of humor? Her face, usually a blank mask when the villagers were around, relaxing enough around him to see the edges of her lips curl up at the end? And that thing she did with her teeth, worrying her lower lip…. _what was that?_

You can think all those things about a friend, right?

_Right?_

He’d never really had a friend that wasn’t a brother-in-arms in his clan. He could objectively appreciate her muscles in her arms and her thighs. There was nothing wrong with appreciating a fellow warrior’s body. Her confidence, the way she held her shoulders in a new situation, like she was the most dangerous thing in the room, was something he could admire without it crossing a line.

She _was_ his friend, he was sure of it. She jumped to his defense when the villagers were wary of him being in their ranks. She stood at his side. He missed looking over, turning his head and seeing her standing next to him.

He had met countless people over the years, not just bounties. They came and they went with very little fanfare. He couldn’t even picture their faces, never even asked their names. He had met beautiful women too, handsome men, but at the end of the day that wasn’t what mattered. He had never met anyone that hooked him the way she had. She was different…..

He knew he’d never see her again. Did the kid even remember her, he wondered? He remembers with humor the petrified look on her face when the kid waddled up to her and raised his little arms asking to sit in her lap. She picked him up like he was some sort of poisonous plant or live grenade at first. Days later she was holding him in her lap during meals like it was perfectly natural. They were sitting on the porch one night sharing a bowl of seasonal vegetables offered up by the village. They were eating some sort of steamed pod that was filled with little peas. The pod was fuzzy on the surface and you had to remove the tough casing to get to the edible insides. She had chuckled to herself.

“What’s so funny?” he asked as he was shelling his own pile.

“I was just thinking. This little guy, he looks like one of these fuzzy green beans. Doesn’t he?” She held up a fuzzy pod next to the kid’s ear for comparison.

She heard the air rush out of his nose in an amused snort. “You’re right.”

“I’m going to call you green bean. Is that ok?” she asked as she looked down at the kid. He smiled up at her and raised his ears at her affectionate tone.

“You like it?” she questions, her face turning toward him. His soft fuzzy ears raise even higher in pleasure as she smiles at him. “Green Bean it is.”

“That’s too long, it sounds like a first and last name.” He grumbled.

“Fine, Bean then”. She concluded.

“I refuse to call him that ridiculous name, just for the record”.

“Oh yea, just call him kid forever, that’s so much better”.

“You want to be called Bean huh kiddo?” he asked. The kid reached out to him. He was sitting next to her, so close their thighs were touching. He took the child in his arms across the small gap and he smiled at him.

“Ok, fine. _You_ can call him Bean.” He stated finally. Cara’s smile widened and he realized with discomfort he would do a lot to make her smile like that again. One thing he wouldn’t do - He would never use that ridiculous name.

It’s dark outside by the time they finished. They couldn’t put off sleep any longer. He was still holding the kid (Bean now apparently) in his lap, but the little guy was starting to drift off. He shifted to try to move his center of mass into a position where he could get up without waking Bean ( _damnit, the kid, he refused to call him that_). Just when he thought he’d have to shuffle the little guy in his arms just to stand, a bare hand and forearm appeared in his line of vision. When he took her offered hand to help him stand, he couldn’t help but see the parallel from his childhood. She was comfort, security, and more than that reaching out for him. He let his hand linger longer than was strictly acceptable, but she didn’t pull away. When they let their hands drop her lips were in a straight line, obviously lost in thought. If he studied her, she might have even looked confused in the fading light. It caught the edge of her nose and her cheekbones and he found himself unable to look away. At least he had the helmet to fide his rush of embarrassment or so he thought. When her eyes caught his, impossible through the visor, he could have sworn her saw a flush on her neck creeping into her cheeks. She turned to head inside her lodge before muttering, “goodnight Mando”.

“Good night Cara”.

_Good night Mando._

He entered his own entrance to the hut and put the kid in his pram. The light was totally gone by this point so he could raise the helmet up and off his head to take some breaths of the fresh night air. He started the process of removing his armor. Sometimes in the morning, he put on the last pieces on the porch, Cara watching him carefully without saying anything. She seemed to appreciate the sacredness of this process, but he felt good donning his plates in front of her. She would be hitting him full force soon enough for their morning sparring, so it felt appropriate to remind her he was actually a man underneath the armored layer that would break a normal person’s hand.

As he removed the last of his armor, he stood in the stillness of his sleeping quarters. Cara was only 15 feet away through the thin wall separating the multiple living quarters. Was she asleep already? She didn’t seem that tired.

She had wished him goodnight, and he realized that they both had the expectation of tomorrow, _many tomorrows._ _How had they gotten so comfortable here?_ It was such a casual phrase, _goodnight_ , but it filled him with a sense of home he didn’t have any other experience with. It was the promise of it being only a temporary parting that made his hands sweaty despite the fact he had stripped down to his jumpsuit.

She had said ‘goodnight Mando’ like they had done for weeks but he had to stop himself from telling her “actually it’s Din”, just to see her reaction. He could imagine the gears working in her head as she figured out his meaning. “My name …… its Din”. _He could say it like that instead maybe._ These were words he didn’t say outside of his clan so why was he talking himself out of saying it to her.

What would his name sound like in her voice, from her lips?

…………………………….

On the razor Crest, weeks after Sorgan

He looked back from the pilot’s seat to the sleeping child covered in his blanket, the kid unaware of the internal battle his thoughts were engaging in. Fate had been so good to him over the years, all things considered.

Why was it being so cruel now.

He had no choice then but to leave her behind. It had been weeks since he left Sorgan and he couldn’t get out of this funk. The only person he’d ever met that he felt a connection to….. _gone_. He tells himself that it was an instant connection they shared, but that would belittle everything they learned about one another that came after. He felt in tune with her from the very beginning, but as the days had passed he felt closer to her the more he learned about her: what her facial expressions meant, the tone of her voice, her body language. _And he had left her_. His friend, this woman who intrigued him and confused him past the point of frustration.

Then the call from Karga came in, reminding him about the client who would stop at nothing to obtain the kids for who knows what sick nefarious purpose. He wanted to pretend her never heard it, just run and take _Bean_ to the far reaches of space and try to keep him safe on his own. He knows that isn’t realistic though; the sick fucks that were after him had to be eliminated if the kid ever had a chance at a normal life free from pain and servitude or worse.

He would need backup though. He didn’t really have anyone he could trust…… _Shit._ The only person he ever felt he could trust was---

It clicked. _Shit. This was his chance._

Screw waiting for Fate to choose his path, he would make his own. This couldn’t possibly be how it ended for them, he would make sure of that with or without Fate’s interference.

He just hoped he wasn’t too late as he laid in the coordinates to return to Sorgan.

………………

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!  
> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed :D
> 
> until next time


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